


To Forget, To Remember

by RedHeadedWoman



Series: 52 Stories in 52 Weeks [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fanboy Phil Coulson, Grief/Mourning, Howard Stark was Creepy, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, M/M, Memory Related, Protective Bucky Barnes, Steve Feels, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers-centric, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:30:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5996929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHeadedWoman/pseuds/RedHeadedWoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AKA Steve's memory is shitty and Howard was creepy. For once, that may be a good thing. For Steve anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Forget, To Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt for this week was a story about finding something that has been lost.

Steve was sitting on a windowsill in the common area, sketchbook balanced on his knees as he worked. The windowsill wasn’t big enough for him to stretch out but he barely noticed the cramps in his legs. He was too focused on the sketch he was doing of his mother.

The others were in the common area as well. Thor and Natasha were playing chess, Phil reading over mission reports. Tony and Bruce were arguing about something way above Steve’s head. Sam, Clint, and Bucky were talking weapons. Pepper was with them as well, curled on the couch, reading a novel. Apparently Tony had convinced her to take a couple days off and was doing as little as she possibly could.

Steve glanced out the window over the New York skyline. From this high up, Steve couldn’t see cars or people, not even as ant sized dots. He could see the horizon, though, the blue of the ocean. From this angle he could even see where Brooklyn was.

The sketch of his mother was still rough, soft edges and eraser marks covering the page. Steve sighed, flipping the page over to start again. Since the serum, his memory had become far better than it had ever been. Howard had called it almost photographic and Bruce agreed. But Steve couldn’t quite remember what his mother had looked like.

Sarah Rogers had had beautiful blue eyes and blonde hair. She’d been a nurse and had died of TB. She’d always cared for people and had loved working on the wards. She’d treated Bucky like a second son and had been grateful for him caring for Steve. She’d been an excellent cook even with the very little food they’d had. Sarah Rogers had been of average height and slim build.

Steve couldn’t remember the shape of her face or the length of her hair. Her favourite colour had been blue but he couldn’t remember her wearing it. He could picture the wedding photo that had sat over the mantle but not the style of her dress or his father’s face. Sarah Rogers had, no doubt, been beautiful but Steve couldn’t remember how beautiful she’d been. He remembered her singing and knew what her voice had sounded like.

Steve remembered bits and pieces about how she looked. He remembered her voice, the lilt of her accent, singing during church. Her cooking, the way she would danced and gather Steve up to waltz him around the room. The way she’d care for Steve after a long day caring for strangers. Cleaning him and Bucky up after they’d been fighting.

‘Stevie?’ Bucky ran a hand over Steve’s shoulders, startling him from his memories.

‘Buck?’

‘You okay?’

‘I’m tryna sketch my ma,’ Steve flicked back to the failed drawing. ‘I can’t remember the shape of her face, Buck.’ Bucky kissed Steve’s hair. ‘I don’t know how tall she was.’

‘Get off the windowsill, Stevie,’ Buck helped him, tucking his sketchbook under his arm and leading Steve into the elevator. Steve leaned against the back wall, closing his eyes and trying to picture his mother. Flashes of memory passed by. The twirl of her skirt, curled asleep on the couch, her hands bandaging his knee. Her hair falling down her back in waves, the cross resting on her dress. Her uniform draped over the back of a chair.

Bucky lead Steve into their bedroom, throwing the sketchbook onto a side table, and pushed Steve onto the bed. He sat with him, rubbing his back, as Steve began panicking. Just a little. Bucky kissed his neck, his shoulder.

‘Stevie. Breathe with me, baby,’ Bucky took a deep breath in and waited till Steve had copied him before slowly letting it out. Steve followed Buck’s example, with deep, controlled breaths. It’s harder than it should be, but Steve keeps trying. In and out, slowly, carefully, controlled. Bucky sticks with him, a hand on his back grounding him.

‘M’okay,’ Steve muttered, falling back onto the bed. ‘Just wish I could remember her right.’

‘I know, Stevie,’ Bucky lay down, tangling their fingers together. ‘You’ll remember, Steve. Memory’s a funny thing. Like a sieve.’

‘According to Howard and Bruce mine should be near photographic. Should remember perfectly.’

‘Just cause that’s what the docs say, doesn’t make it true. You know that better than most. Stop bein’ so hard on yourself, Rogers.’ Steve rolled onto his side, pressing against Bucky’s side. They didn’t talk for a long time, just lay there breathing, till Steve slipped off to sleep. 

…

Several days later, Steve was still struggling with the memory of his mother. Spending so much time thinking it over had helped. He could remember how tall she’d been and the length of her hair. The smell of her perfume and the freckles across her nose and arms. The shape of her face still eluded him.

Steve had been so desperate he’d even gone to Bruce for help. Bruce had run a battery of tests on his memory and mental capabilities. Everything, according to Bruce, was perfectly fine. He did suggest, however, that the years spent in the ice had impacted certain aspects of his memories. Steve doubted it and, though Bruce didn’t say it, Steve knew Bruce doubted it as well.

Bucky had helped how he could. Talking to Steve about their mothers, Bucky’s father and sister. The people they’d known in Brooklyn. The places they’d lived and visited in the city. They shared memories and stories of their lives, including the bits since the war. Steve even learnt some things about Bucky he hadn’t known before. Like some of the people Bucky’d slept with before Steve too had joined the war. Though they’d  been together then, Steve wasn’t upset Bucky had slept around. He’d been in the middle of a war and had needed comfort and a living, friendly body to keep warm with. Steve didn’t blame him.

Steve was trying to sketch his mother again with Bucky sitting at his feet, reading, when Tony strutted into the room. Neither Steve nor Bucky looked up at his entrance, far too used to him to bother. Tony wandered around the room, poking at books and magazines, and trying to get their attention without being obvious. Eventually, Tony huffed and dropped onto the couch.

‘Can we help you, Tony?’ Steve asked.

‘Got something to show you,’ Tony looked nervous, fiddling with his phone and fidgeting in his seat.

‘So. Show us.’ Bucky prompted.

‘I, uh, don’t have it with me. Too much to carry. It’s in a storage container. Warehouse. Thing. Just come.’ Tony insisted. Steve glanced at Bucky who shrugged and stood.

‘Lead the way.’

…

They drove for over two hours before they reached a warehouse outside of Albany. The warehouse stood, seemingly abandoned, in the middle of an empty lot. Steve couldn’t see any obvious security but he assumed JARVIS was around somewhere.

Tony had alternated between complete silence and disjointed rambling for the drive up. He hadn’t told them where they were going or what he was showing them. Tony didn’t look nervous but he rarely did. Steve figured the silent stretches were clue enough into how he was feeling.

Tony parked haphazardly near the door of the warehouse and climbed out. Steve and Bucky followed him after a moment.

‘Shoulda told you about this ages ago,’ he said, pressing his hand to a section of wall. A keypad folded down and Tony put in a code. ‘Never should’ve kept this secret.’ Tony muttered to himself. A keyhole appeared in the door and Tony used an old fashioned, iron key to unlock it. He pushed the door open and ushered them into the dark room.

Lights began flickering on, row by row, lightly up the immense space. Ordered, floor to ceiling shelves were revealed, piled with boxes and chests, notebooks and poster tubes. Steve could even see some statues and sculptures dotted amongst the collection. There was a computer terminal near the door and signs on the end of each row.

‘What is all this?’ Bucky asked.

‘Bits and pieces. Projects Howard or I never finished. Or ones that were too dangerous to let others get their hands on. There’s other stuff too. Artworks, mostly. Some journals, prototypes. I think there’s a prototype of Sam’s wings in here somewhere. A garage too with both old cars and things that Howard or I worked on. Including what should have been a flying car.’ Tony lead them down the central aisle. ‘Most of this is stuff that will never see the light of day. Before Pep it was all just thrown in. When she found it, I thought she was gonna kill me. Some of this stuff is pretty delicate. She spent four months fixing everything up. Called in archivists and librarians to help fix it all up. JARVIS has everything catalogued and there’s a system to adding new things. It’s all very impressive.’

‘But why’s it all here?’ Steve asked, glancing down a row and spotting something wing shaped.

‘Howard ran out of space at the mansion so he threw it all here. Like I said, some of this stuff. Dangerous. Couldn’t just leave it lying around somewhere. Paranoid fuckers, us Starks,’

‘With good reason.’ Bucky said, jerking a thumb at a box marked “Oppenheimer”. ‘Code?’

‘Yeah. Best not to open that one,’ Tony shrugged. ‘A lot isn’t dangerous but it’s … precious, in a way. Artworks and journals. Couple of da Vinci’s.’

‘Wait,’ Steve stopped Tony with a hand on his arm. ‘Couple of what?’

‘Of da Vinci’s journals,’ Tony smirked like he knew exactly what the info had done to Steve. ‘I think there’s a Picasso one too. Maybe van Gogh. I forget.’

‘No, you don’t.’

‘No. I really don’t,’ Tony grinned.

‘That’s -’ Steve looked around the massive space. ‘I don’t know what that is. The artworks?’ Steve asked.

‘The artworks. Dear old dad rescued some from the Nazis.’

‘And you’ve kept them? Locked away for no-one to see?’

‘No. I gave them back to the museums and palaces they’d been stolen from. There’s still a few here though. Different reasons for each. Come on, almost there.’ Tony lead them a little further down, then turned into one of the rows. Steve couldn’t see anything different about this row, except that it was shorter and ended in a door. Tony pressed his hand to the wall and the door popped open.

‘Another collection?’ Bucky asked. Tony nodded as they started down the stairs. ‘Why’s this one hidden down here with extra security?’

‘Howard had this one catalogued and organised years before I even knew this place existed. Pep didn’t need to touch it and she kept the archivists away from it. She's been adding bits and pieces to it over the years though. Anything JARVIS found in auctions or hidden away in people’s attics, Pep bought it and put it down here. Kept it safe and preserved.’

They came to another door, with more security, this one voice activated. It was dark when they went in but Steve could instantly tell this was a smaller collection but in the same amount of space. Tony took a moment before manually flicking the lights on. As the space lit up, Steve’s first thought was that this was organised differently, more like a museum than a storage facility. The second was that he’d always hated those war bonds posters.

‘Jesus,’ Bucky breathed beside him. Steve had to agree.

It looked like a fucking shrine. To him.

‘Tony?’

‘So. Here’s the thing,’ Tony fidgeted, glancing around the room. ‘Howard was a creepy bastard. After you went into the ice, he moved before the Army had a chance to. Sent people to your apartment and collected whatever was still there. He spent years getting his hands on as much of your stuff as he possibly could. Everything from the base, your apartment, school transcripts, records, everything he could. Peggy and the Commandos left their stuff to him as well. He collected as much of Bucky’s stuff as he could.’

Steve was barely listening as Bucky started asking questions, something about the Smithsonian exhibit. Instead he was looking at this collection. As Tony said, it was creepy to think of Howard gathering up all his possessions and doing this. Cataloguing and organising and displaying them. Keeping everything that had been his and hiding it away in some warehouse basement.

‘Why?’ Steve demanded, quiet. Tony stared at Steve for a moment, deciding something.

‘I have no idea,’ Tony lied. Steve frowned. Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair, shifting his weight. ‘Howard was an obsessive, determined, creepy bastard. I honestly don’t know for sure why he went to this extent. He searched for you for years because he considered you, both of you, his friends. Howard spent much of his spare time looking for you because he wanted to. Don’t ask me for straight answers, Steve, because I don’t have them.’

‘Are there photos here?’ Steve asked, thinking of his mother.

‘Yeah,’ Tony led them through the display of Steve’s life. As they walked, Steve noticed that Bucky featured heavily. Some of his possessions had their own area. There were even a couple photos of Bucky’s parents and sister. Bucky slipped his hand into Steve’s as Tony stopped in front of a display. Steve didn’t immediately realise what he was looking at. ‘All of this is your mother’s. Photos, her uniform, work records, papers. Everything. I’ll, uh, be upstairs. Ask JARVIS if you need anything.’ Tony walked away, leaving Steve staring at an image of his smiling mother.

‘Buck,’ Steve stepped back from the display. Bucky turned to face Steve, effectively blocking the display. Steve was grateful for it.

‘Steve. Talk to me, babe,’ Bucky traced the edge of Steve’s jaw, his fingers light. Steve leaned into the touch. He felt off-balance, surreal. 

‘I don’t. I don’t understand,’ Steve whispered, surrounded by the detriment of his old life, before the serum, before the war, and the Avengers. Memories of a life he missed like an ache, like a wound. One he’d dreamt of returning to before he’d settled into life of the twenty-first century with his new friends, his new family.

‘Don’t understand what, Stevie? Like Tony said. Howard was a creepy obsessive. You know as well as I do that he loved you, Steve. I’m guessing Tony knows it too but he doesn’t wanna say.’

‘But why would -’

‘No point trying to understand a dead man, Steve,’ Bucky’s hand settled on the side of his neck, grounding him. His other hand was still in Steve’s, their fingers tangled together. ‘Listen. Don’t think about why or how or that’s it’s real fucking creepy. There are photos of your mother behind me. The shape of her face, Steve. Tony said her papers are there. I assume that includes her birth and marriage ones. And her death certificate.’

‘Yeah,’ Steve muttered, pressing his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky held him by the back of his neck, his thumb drawing circles in Steve’s hairline. They stood there for several long minutes as Steve caught his breath and tried to prepare himself. His mother’s face came to mind, smiling as she twirled around their small apartment, singing along to a song on the radio, her laugh ringing in his ears. Aspects of her appearance eluded him still. ‘Okay.’ Steve pulled away from Bucky, prepared now. Bucky, bless him, stepped back.

Sarah Rogers looked up at him from a simple frame, her nurse’s uniform crisp. Her slim face, bright eyes, hair pulled up into a neat style. She was more beautiful than Steve could have remembered. Steve’s gaze roamed over the collection. Photos of Sarah from work, from her wedding. Photos with Steve when he was a boy, some with Bucky and his family. A photo from someone’s wedding. Her birth, marriage, and death certificates are all framed and standing together along with a photo of her gravestone. Her nurse’s qualification. Journals Sarah had kept that detailed her life, her work, and a list of abortions she carried out on their living room floor (all coded, of course).

Joseph Rogers' life was there too. A small collection in opposition to Sarah’s larger one. Photos, papers, military records. Letters to and from his family, Sarah. Bits of a life Steve had never really known. Two sets of rosary lay amongst it all. One his mother’s, the other his father’s. His father’s wedding ring and dog tags.

The lives of his parents lay before in stark comparison to the detriments of his own. Looking it all over, Steve broke. He collapsed to his knees and let the grief carry him. Bucky knelt beside him, wrapping him up in his arms. Steve sunk into the embrace, sobbing so hard that it hurt. Down to his core, Steve hurt more than he’d realised. And had done since he’d lost his mother.

It had only ever been the two of them. Even after Bucky had stormed into Steve’s life, it had always been him and his mother. The two of them doing what they could to survive, caring for each other when they were unwell or simply not happy. Steve had seen his mother crying more than she’d known and he’d done his best to cheer her up. Usually with Bucky’s help. Losing his mother, even though they’d known it was coming, had been agonising. Having her ripped from him had nearly killed him to.

Steve gripped Bucky’s arm, enough to bruise, holding onto him for all he was worth. Surrounded by the evidence of the life he’d lived, Steve let loose everything he’d been holding back for years. He let go of the hurt and the pain and the crushing sense of loneliness he’d had since he’d lost her. Since he’d woken up in the wrong time, without the only family he’d known. Bucky was muttering to him, words of comfort and sweet nothings, of love and affection and heartbreak. His strength and his courage.

‘Steve,’ Bucky gently lifted Steve’s face from his neck, swiping his thumbs of Steve’s cheek and brushing away the tears. ‘Sarah loved you with everything she had. She made me promise to look after you, ya know.’

‘She did?’ Steve choked out. His stomach was twisted in knots and he couldn’t breathe properly. It was like his asthma had come roaring back. Bucky gently guided Steve’s head back a little, kissing his throat, and rubbing his back.

‘Back when we first met,’ Bucky confirmed, skimming his fingers over Steve’s throat. ‘She wanted me to keep an eye on you. Told her I didn’t need to. You could fight off the bullies yourself,’ Bucky laughed softly. ‘I thought she was gonna smack me. Said she knew you could fight the bullies yourself. Wanted me to get you out of the fucking house to live a little, she said. Told me if I ever let you down she’d make him wish she let the nuns deal with me instead a’her. I was fucking terrified of your mother, Stevie. Even when she was sick or run down.’

‘Sound. Sounds like her.’ Steve managed, hiccuping.

‘Yeah, it does. She wanted you safe and healthy and happy, Steve. Wanted you to have an actual life instead a’ bein’ stuck inside all the damn time. ‘s why she taught me how to revive you, give you your medication, and look after you properly. Made sure I knew how to stop you dyin’ when she wasn’t there to do it.’

‘Didn’t want you knowin’ how sick I was.’

‘I know and so did Sarah. Why do you think I never told ya, huh? Come on, punk,’ Bucky wiped his face again, hands light and careful.

‘Shut up, jerk.’ Steve dropped his head onto Bucky’s shoulder. ‘Ma loved you too, Buck. Thought you were good for me. Thought you’d stop me fightin’ so much. Didn’t work real well.’

‘Not really. Still. She’d be proud of you, Steve.’

‘Of us, Buck,’ Steve sat back enough to look at Bucky. ‘Ma’d be proud of you, Bucky.’

‘Thanks, Stevie.’ Bucky pulled Steve back against him, fucking nuzzling into Steve’s neck. Steve rolled his eyes and kissed Bucky’s shoulder. ‘So, million dollar question, what are you gonna do?’

‘Do?’

‘I’m guessin’ Tony doesn’t actually want any of this.’ Bucky waved a hand around the room.

‘I’ll ask if I can take some of it. Ma’s stuff mostly. The stuff’s that yours is up to you.’ Bucky glanced back at that stuff. ‘For now, though, I’m just gonna leave it all here. It’s safe and no one can get to it. No reason to take anything but ma’s stuff.’

Bucky kissed him quickly and went to see if Tony had any spare boxes. Steve struggled to his feet, regaining his balance, and looked around. Posters, comics, action figures, trading cards, his bike. Phil would probably have field day down here. Steve couldn’t help smiling at the thought of straight-laced Agent Coulson trying to retain his composure in here. Steve couldn’t imagine it would last very long. Thinking of Phil, Steve wandered over to the trading cards, all clearly originals and displayed in a fancy case. Phil had gotten his bloodstained cards back from Fury but they weren’t exactly the same.

…

Steve found Phil in the common area with everyone else when they got back. Bucky and Tony had both helped him gather up the most important things, his mother and father’s effects as well as some of his own things, into boxes and carted them back to New York. As Bucky had guessed, Tony wanted them to have everything in the basement. He’d apologised again for not giving it all to them sooner but Steve had understood. The collection had represented a person, an obsession to Howard, but it had all meant something different to Tony. They hadn’t taken any of Bucky’s things except a small photo of his family.

The boxes were up in their room, waiting for them to sort through. Steve was looking forward to it, just as much as he looked forward to sorting through everything else and deciding what to do with it all.

‘Where’d you lot disappear to?’ Clint asked, looking up from the knives he was sharpening.

‘Upstate. Nowhere special,’ Tony said, sitting with Bruce. ‘What’s the rule about knives in here, Barton? Not allowed.’

‘What’re you gonna do?’ Clint shrugged, unconcerned.

Steve ignored them all and sat next to Phil, who was working on a mission report. Phil glanced up at him with a smile and turned back to the report. Steve listened to the others bickering for a while longer before he couldn’t contain himself any more.

‘As a long awaited thank you. And an apology.’ Steve muttered to Phil as he set the wrapped box on his lap. Phil frowned, setting aside the report, and carefully peeling off the plain white paper. Steve was aware that the others had stopped to watch but he kept his focus on Phil.

The box was dark wood with a clear lid. The cards were all clearly visible as was Steve’s signature on the clear perspex. Steve heard Phil’s soft gasp as he finally realised what he was holding.

‘All originals,’ Steve promised. ‘And in the original packaging.’

‘I don’t -’ Phil spluttered as Clint whistled when he saw the cards.

‘He’s not gonna shut up about this, you know. So. Thanks for that.’

‘Shut up, Clint,’ Phil snapped though it lacked any heat. ‘Steve. Thank you.’

‘Your welcome, Phil. I’m sorry for what happened to your original set and that’s it taken me so long to thank you for all you do for us. Properly anyway.’

‘How did you get these?’ Phil was running his hands over the wood of the box. His touch was almost reverent.

‘Howard collected shit.’ Tony said as though it was nothing. He’d probably get questions about that later judging by Bruce's expression. But, for now, no-one mentioned anything.

‘I can’t accept -’

‘Yes, you can,’ Steve interrupted, clapping Phil’s shoulder. ‘You do so much for us, Phil. I wanted to thank you and to apologise. What better way?’

‘Thank you, Steve. This is far too much but I am more than happy to keep them. Thank you.’ Phil, clearly overwhelmed, fell silent, with Clint leaning on his knees and grinning. Steve, assuming his presence wasn’t helping much, clapped Phil’s shoulder again and left the common room to sort through his mother’s things.

…

‘How bad are you freaking out?’ Clint asked Phil much later as he set the box of trading cards on a shelf.

‘Far too much.’ Phil admitted. Clint grinned, kissing him.

‘I love getting to see this side of you. Nerd.’

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably not how Steve's memory works but I couldn't help it. 
> 
> I'm a librarian and am studying to be am archivist and the thought of being able to catalogue and organise a collection like what Tony has would be an amazing challenge.


End file.
